Genesis of a Curse
by geek-chick
Summary: Hurley reminisces about the day he bought the lottery ticket. One-shot; complete.


**Author's Notes:**

I normally don't read Lost fan fiction (I prefer Tolkien fan fics myself) and this is the first Lost fan fic I've written, so I apologize if this idea has been done before. However, I am a big fan of the Lost T.V. show, so when this idea came to me one night I had to write it down!

I do not currently have a beta reader, so if you notice any typos, feel free to point them out and I'll fix them!

Finally, this story was written after the end of Season 3, so if any future episodes contradict this story, that's why!

* * *

**_Genesis of a Curse_**

It is the middle of the lunch-hour rush at Mr. Cluck's Chicken Shack. The smell of frying oil and burnt chicken permeates the air. Butter sizzles on the grill, the sound barely heard over the customer honking his horn at the drive-thru and the long lines of people chit-chatting at the registers, discussing whether they should make that all-important decision: upgrade to the large size combo meal for only ninety-nine cents or save their pennies for another day?

"Thank you, ma'am, have a nice day," Hurley mumbles as he gives a customer her change. He is tired and does not pretend to smile; he now regrets staying up until nearly 4:00 a.m. playing video games with his friend Johnny when he knew his shift started at 9:00 a.m. to prepare for the lunch hour.

"How may I help you?" he asks the next person in line, a large middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair, dressed in an inexpensive grey suit and slightly wrinkled white shirt. His ensemble is completed with a gaudy striped tie in mustard yellow and avocado green that reminds Hurly of his great-aunt Marta's kitchen. The lines etched in the man's face makes Hurley wonder whether the man has smiled since Marta last decorated her kitchen.

Before the customer can respond, Hurley hears his manager shout from the back of the kitchen, "Remember the napkins, Hurley!" Hurley suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. How could Randy have possibly seen him give the previous customer four napkins from his location near the grill?

"I'll have a number eight with onion rings instead of fries," the customer with the hideous tie says, not realizing that Randy was speaking to Hurley.

"Onion rings are a dollar extra," Hurley responds.

"A dollar just for some fried onions?" the man says, and Hurley cringes inwardly. He's dealt with customers like this before, and today he certainly doesn't have the energy to deal with another one. "That's outrageous! Just give me the fries then."

Choosing to ignore the man's brief outburst, he then asks, "What would you like to drink, sir?"

"What caffeine-free sodas do you have?"

_Oh no, not again_, Hurley thinks to himself. "Lemon-lime soda and lemonade."

"Lemon-lime, always lemon-lime soda," the customer mumbles. "Don't you fast food chains realize that some of us are trying to watch our caffeine intake? Why, what about pregnant women? They must have to drink boring lemon-lime soda for nine months straight at these places! And when is lemonade considered a 'soda'?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I don't make those decisions," Hurley replies when the customer finally pauses. "However we do have a comment box over—"

"Like anyone ever reads the comments box," the customer grunts. "Fine. Give me the lemon-lime soda so I can get out of here."

_At least he didn't ask to see the manager._ Hurley glances towards the back of the line to see if any of the other customers are getting impatient. He can't read the expression on most of their faces, although he does notice a visibly pregnant woman at the next line over with an amused look on her face. Quickly ringing up the customer's bill, Hurley says, "That will be $6.23."

The man silently fishes a credit card out of his wallet and hands it across the counter. Hurley glances at it and sighs. "I'm sorry sir," he says as he points to the list of accepted credit cards posted on the front of the register.

"That figures," the man grumbles. "You better be glad I went to the ATM this morning; otherwise, you would have lost this entire transaction."

Not knowing how to respond, Hurley remains quiet while the customer flips through the bills in his wallet. He almost wishes the man would abandon his transaction and leave, so that Hurley could forget about him and move onto the next person. However, when he considers it, he doesn't truly wish such a thing: a lost customer would result in a longer lecture from Randy than an angry customer who still decided to make a purchase. The man finally pulls out a twenty, and Hurley quickly opens the register and gives the man his change, silently praying that the man will finally leave now that he's surely run out of things to complain about.

The man accepts his change and carefully folds the bills back into his wallet, not bothering to get out of the way so that the next customer can step forward. He deliberately puts the wallet back in his pocket, straightens his garish tie, then with his best effort to assume an air of authority he says, "Is your manager here? I want to speak with him after I'm done eating."

_Guess I was wrong. At least my punishment is delayed until this guy finishes his meal._

Before Hurley can answer, a voice beside him says, "I'm the manager. Is there a problem, sir?"

Hurley glances to his left and sees Randy standing beside him. Randy returns his look, the expression on his face conveying an obvious message: _We'll talk about this later_. Randy then turns back towards the customer, suddenly smiling and eager to help an upset patron.

"You bet there is," the man says. "The onion rings are over-priced, and you don't have near enough options to satisfy many customers." While the man is talking, one of Hurley's coworkers sets down a tray on the counter with the customer's food. "But let's talk after I eat; I paid enough for this food, I should at least get to eat it while it's still hot."

"Of course, sir," the manager replies. "When you're ready, just ask for Randy."

Thankful the conversation is over – for now at least – Hurley is finally able to devote his attention to the next customers. Standing at the register are two women: one with long, dark hair, the other with blonde hair cut in a chin-length bob. Both smile to indicate they are not upset about the previous customer's ruckus, and Hurley can't help but answer with a slightly goofy grin of his own. "So how can I help you ladies?"

The blonde woman orders first: "I'll have a number four, no onions, with a root beer."

Hurley quickly punches in the order and turns to the second woman.

"I'll have the Shack Salad and water please." As Hurley rings up their total, the woman with the dark hair puts her hand on her friend's arm. "I'll get it," she says.

"Eight eighty-four," Hurley announces the total.

The woman hands him a ten, and just after he fishes the change out of the register she says with a smile, "Keep the change. For your troubles."

Hurely's smile is genuine this time; he's never received a tip before. "Thank you," he replies, shoving the change into his pocket. Reaching to brush aside a stray curl that escaped from his hairnet, he adds, "Enjoy your meal and thank you for coming to Mr. Cluck's!"

Hurley turns his attention to the next person in line, and as the two women step aside he does not hear the blonde woman ask her friend, "Nadia, would you mind saving us a table while I wait for the food?"

* * *

The tip was the only enjoyable part of Hurley's shift that day. The rest of the lunch hour consisted of the typical indifferent customers with a few impatient people and a handful of screaming children thrown in for variety, though fortunately no one was as obnoxious as the man with the tie from the seventies.

At the end of Hurley's shift, Randy gave him another lecture on how to properly treat customers. Hurley nodded and agreed through the whole conversation, saying little. He knew that despite what Randy said about how to respond to such customers, he could have done nothing to ease the man's complaints – Hurley certainly couldn't control the menu prices, the drink options, or the credit cards accepted!

When Randy's chastisement was finally over, Hurley left the restaurant to drive home. Johnny had already left for the day, so Hurley didn't even get a chance to say goodnight to his friend. On the way home, he stopped at a convenience store to gas up his car but the credit card readers on the fuel pumps were broken.

As he walks into the store to pay and sees the aisles of drinks and snacks, it occurs to him that he should spend his tip on a little something special. He pulls out the dollar bill and change out of his pocket and glances at it: $1.16. Just enough to buy a one-dollar item plus tax. He walks down the aisle of salty snacks, looking for something that was priced close to a dollar. Nothing really stands out to him, and as he turns towards the candy bars a large blue sign with brightly-colored orange letters catches his eye: "Mega Lotto Jackpot."

It's been a while since Hurley last bought a lottery ticket. He could hear his mother complaining now: _You don't need to throw away your money in the lottery! You need to save your money, so you can get a place of your own, maybe find yourself a nice girl and settle down._ He pushes his mother's nagging from his mind. He knows that winning the lottery is a long shot – weren't the odds better that he'd be struck by lightning? – but if he did win, it would sure make his life easier. Then he finally could get a place of his own and make his mother happy, and buy some nice things for her too. If he won enough, he could buy something for his grandfather, maybe another something for his brother or other relatives. His mother certainly couldn't fault him for playing the lottery then! Even though Hurley could never admit it to her, he knows that his mother's nagging is simply her way of showing that she cares for him.

His decision made, Hurley walks up the counter. Although on the way, he can't resist grabbing an Apollo candy bar on sale for fifty cents on an end cap display. He places the candy bar on the counter and says, "I'll also have one lottery ticket, please. And twenty dollars of gas."

"Any particular numbers you'd like to play?" the man behind the counter asks as he scans the bar code on the candy bar. "Or would you rather let the computer choose?"

Hurley pauses for a moment. He doesn't like the idea of using random numbers selected by the computer, but he's not sure what other numbers he should use, either. He's already used the obvious choices on previous tickets: his birthday and the birthdays of a few family members, his graduation date, and some digits from important phone numbers. Then an idea comes to him.

"I've got some numbers," he answers.

* * *

"Hurley?"

Hurley is pulled from his memories of the day the curse began by the sound of Libby's lilting voice. He glances up from the stacks of food he was organizing from the supply drop. Libby is holding out a bag of Dharma Initiative "Puffed Cheese-Flavored Snacks," and he realizes that she had been waiting for him to take it and add it to the collection on the makeshift shelves.

"Oh, sorry," he replies, quickly grabbing the bag and placing it next to the Dharma Initiative Potato Chips.

"What were you thinking about?" Libby then asks.

"Nothin'," Hurley mumbles. He has still told no one on the island about the lottery – or at least, no one who actually believed him – and for now he'd like to keep it that way. Though in the back of his mind, Hurley doubts that Libby would react the same way that Charlie did. He suspects that if there's one person on the island who would be sympathetic to his plight, besides perhaps Rousseau, it would be Libby. Perhaps when the time is right, he will tell her.

Hurley has long ago given up on asking _why_, of always thinking _what if?_ – he has finally accepted that there is nothing he can do about the curse. The numbers followed him from Los Angeles to the remote Australian Outback. They brought him to this island and even followed him to the hatch with the food supply, as if it wasn't enough that they simply torment him, they must tempt him as well. There was no reason to think that he could ever escape from the curse in the future. If he is to ever develop a real relationship with Libby, he will have to tell her. _Someday I will. Just not now._

"You know," Libby then says, changing the subject when it becomes clear that Hurley doesn't want to elaborate, "I've never asked you why you were on the plane. What were you doing in Australia?"

"Just, you know, visiting a friend," Hurley says he as reaches for some Dharma Initiative canned mystery meat, avoiding her gaze. The label identifies the meat as "Ham Flavor."

"And was your friend well?"

"Uh, sure." It wasn't entirely untrue: surely in death, Sam Toomey was finally free of the curse of the numbers. Surely. Hopefully.

"What about you?" Hurley then asks, not wanting to explain, not quite yet.

Libby simply smiles.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

I don't know if Hurley has a great-aunt Marta; I created her for this story.

While it may seem like a stretch for Nadia to appear in Hurley's flashback (but really, is any character connection a stretch with Lost?) I thought it could be possible. Hurley was living in Los Angeles when he won the lottery in 2003, and just before the plane crash in September 2004 federal agents told Sayid that Nadia was living in Irvine, CA, a suburb of Los Angeles. (Source: lostpedia dot com)

Thanks for reading this story, and I'd appreciate any reviews or constructive criticism!


End file.
